


Among the Champagne and the Stars

by welcometomaddieland



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2019-10-14 22:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17517140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcometomaddieland/pseuds/welcometomaddieland
Summary: Over the course of one summer at Shadow Lake, Betty Cooper watches the love triangle of the century unfold.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Riverdale fic and my first time posting on AO3 rather than FFNet! Inspired by The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

I was 17 when my parents got divorced. The Riverdale Register had been dwindling for years, and in the summer before my senior year of high school, Mom told Dad to leave, close down the paper, and find a new job. It was implied that he would get to return once he started making money again, but by the time he locked down a stable job the following spring, Mom was no longer interested.

Dad moved to nearby Greendale, and Mom, Polly, and I moved into a townhome that was a bit too close to the South Side for some of my more elitist friends’ liking. We turned our little home into a sorority house, scattering lipstick tubes across the kitchen counter and hanging bras on the doorknobs. We were happy.

On the day our parents separated, Polly and I drove over to our cousin Cheryl’s house and sat on her bed for hours, puzzling through the big news.

“I just don’t understand,” Cheryl said, her voice in genuine anguish. “Money was tight, sure, but your parents seemed so happy.”

I frowned at her, wondering how she hadn’t seen this coming the way I had. Polly threw her arm around Cheryl’s shoulders and simply said, “You just never really know what’s going on behind closed doors.”

-x-

Archie and I were having one of our usual post-frat house brunches when he made me the offer.

“What’s the status on your summer job?” he asked. 

“I think Dad is emailing some of his old co-workers,” I said.

Archie narrowed his eyes at me, and I affixed him with the patented Betty Cooper Death Stare. Archie was practically my brother; we’d grown up next door to each other in Riverdale. We’d both been accepted to Cornell—him for football, me for creative writing. His easygoing nature and football connections led to him getting a bid from Sigma Chi. As he went through the rush process, he pulled a few strings and connected me with some of the right girls to get me a bid from Kappa. I had him to thank for all of the best parts of my college experience.

“You waited too long,” Archie said admonishingly. 

“They don’t really hand internships out to creative writing majors,” I sighed. “Besides, we’ve got another month left in the semester. Something could turn up.”

“Yeah, a month left in the second semester of our sophomore year,” Archie said. “Lucky for you, I found something.”

“Mom says money is tight right now, and unlike you, I can’t go waltzing off to Chicago or some other fancy city—”

“It’s in Shadow Lake,” Archie interrupted. 

Throughout high school, Archie and his family had spent their summers at a cottage in Shadow Lake so that Mr. Andrews could pick up some construction and contract work from the bigger lake houses in the area. Mom, Polly and I were always invited to stay with them for a few weeks each summer. It’d become like a second home to me, but like most things from my childhood, it now no longer existed—Mr. Andrews sold the cottage after Archie graduated from high school. 

“Remember that bookstore in the village that we used to go to all the time?” Archie asked. “They’re looking for some new summer help, and they want someone who can tweet and blog for them. I told them to hire you.”

“But my mom—”

“Your mom thinks it’s a great idea,” Archie said. “And the shop owner should have contacted you by now. Check your email.”

I tapped my phone screen and found two emails—one from my mother, stating how excited she was, and another from a woman named Valerie, asking me about my summer availability. 

“But where would I even stay?” I asked, hands shaking. This felt too good to be true. 

“The Mantles—“

“The Mantles? As in Reggie Mantle, football meathead?” 

“He’s a good guy, Betty,” Archie said, annoyed. “The Mantles agreed that you can stay in their guest house this summer. I begged, and your mom called in a favor. Apparently your dad gave Mr. Mantle a lot of free publicity when he first started Luxury Car Jamboree.” 

I scrolled through the email from the bookstore again. Social media for an independent bookstore. I couldn’t think of anything more that I wanted to do with my life. For that, it was worth it to live with Reggie for a summer. 

“Fine, fine,” I huffed. “Seriously, though. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Archie said with a grin. “If I can’t have you with me in Chicago this summer, then at least I’ll know you’re safe with Reggie.”

I rolled my eyes. No matter how hard I tried to assert my independence, Archie would forever see me as a little sister and perpetual damsel in distress.

“Oh, I should probably tell you now,” Archie added. “Reggie’s girlfriend is staying there all summer too.”

-x-

Even though I knew Archie better than I knew myself, I’d never quite figured out Reggie. He’d been a fixture at playdates, birthday parties, and summers at Shadow Lake throughout my childhood, but he’d always been the type to tease a girl and pull her hair rather than get to know her. I knew that he and Archie were close, though, bonded by football and the fact that they’d pledged the same fraternity, albeit at different colleges. 

So it was with curiosity and a little hesitance that I drove to Shadow Lake from Ithaca in late May. After nearly four hours in the car, I came to a stop in front of a quiet lake house I’d only ever seen on Instagram. I hadn’t even turned off the car before Mr. Mantle, trailed by a short bald man, came out of the house. The bald man opened my door while Mr. Mantle stood in the driveway.

“Welcome! I’m Isaac,” the bald man said, eagerly shaking my hand.

“Welcome, Betty,” Mr. Mantle called out. “Isaac helps us out around the house. Feel free to ask him for anything.”

“So nice to meet you,” I said, feeling a little breathless. At Cornell, it was rude to flaunt your wealth. Every once in a while, indications of someone’s economic status trickled through—a snapchat of a yacht, a Cartier bracelet, a fridge full of Veuve. But no Cornell student would ever be so brazen as to make their butler greet you while they stood idly by. In Riverdale and its surrounding communities, though, wealth and privilege were shouted from the rooftops so that you’d know for certain which families hailed from the North Side and which slummed it on the South Side. 

“She’ll be staying in room two of the guest house,” Mr. Mantle said. Isaac nodded and began pulling my suitcases out of the trunk.

“I can get those,” I offered, but Isaac rolled away with my luggage before I could help. 

“Thank you so much for letting me stay here this summer, Mr. Mantle,” I said, extending my hand for a handshake. He grasped my hand in a strong, almost viselike grip, then led me towards the house. 

What seemed modest from the front gave way to high ceilings and fine furniture on the inside. An island kitchen was being filled with food on my left while a Tiffany lamp gently lit the living room on my right. Above the stone fireplace was a vintage map of Shadow Lake with a hand-scrawled star marking the location of the Mantles’ house. 

Shadow Lake was an odd blob punctured by two peninsulas shaped like little fists, nicknamed by locals as the Right Hook and the Left Hook. The Mantles lived on Right Hook, which was all mahogany tables and maids’ quarters. Left Hook was for those seeking marble countertops and bedroom-sized closets—nouveau riche, as my cousin Cheryl would say. 

“Majestic, isn’t it?” Mr. Mantle said. It took me a minute to realize he was referring to the view of the lake from his picture window, not the opulence of Shadow Lake families. I crossed the room and nearly pressed my nose to the sliding glass door.

“Truly,” I replied. I couldn’t wait to get in to the glittering waters. 

“Melinda and I are in the back,” Mr. Mantle explained, gesturing to his left. “So is Reggie. We put his girlfriend up in the guest house—we’re hoping to keep them a little separated this summer—and we’ve made up a room for you there too.”

Mr. Mantle slid open the back door and gestured for me to follow the stone path towards the guest house.

“Reggie is excited that you’re here,” Mr. Mantle said. “Go on, Melinda and I will catch up with you later.”

I stepped down the path and quietly opened the door to the guest house. A short hallway led me to a large main room with a pool table and the largest flatscreen television I’d ever seen. Two heads, one full of thick black hair, one covered by a beanie, peeked out from above a pristine white couch. Through the windows I spied a girl with curly hair laying out in the grass. 

The black-haired boy turned to me with a grin.

“Betty Cooper,” Reggie said with a smirk. “It’s been too long.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Reggie,” I laughed as he pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. He was so tall now—taller than me, and surely taller than Archie. The boy with the beanie remained rooted to the couch, staring at me curiously. 

“Betty, you remember Jughead, right?” Reggie said. I squinted at the beanie boy for a moment before all the memories came rushing back.

“Jughead? Jughead Jones?” I said, incredulous. 

“The one and only,” Jughead said with a smirk. 

Jughead had been the Ron to me and Archie’s Hermione and Harry when we were little. The three of us spent most days after school huddled in Jughead’s treehouse, pretending to cast spells and making up silly games about gryphons and gargoyles. We’d all assumed that middle school would be the same—more time to play and more freedom to do so, now that we were nearly teenagers. But Jughead was nowhere to be found on the first day of sixth grade. My mom later told me that Jughead’s parents had gotten caught up with a gang on the South Side and his grandparents had assumed custody. 

“Archie’s going to die when he finds out you’re here,” I said, leaning in for a hug. “What’s brought you here? How are you and Reggie even friends? You guys hated each other in elementary school.”

“My grandparents are renting a house here this summer about a block over,” Jughead explained. “As for me and Reggie, we’re both at Yale and ended up in the same calculus class freshman year.”

“If it weren’t for Jug, I would have failed and had to transfer to Carson College,” Reggie said. We collectively shuddered. Carson, the one university in Riverdale, was attended by kids who couldn’t get in anywhere else—or kids whose parents forced them to attend after partying too hard or failing out of another university. It was the last resort. 

“Anyway, you’ve got to meet—” In lieu of finishing his sentence, Reggie ran across the room and yanked open the back door. “Josie! Betty is here!”

The curly-haired girl rolled off of her beach towel and made her way back into the house. To my surprise, she wasn’t wearing a bikini, but a short-sleeved shirt and athletic shorts. A devotional was clutched in her hands. 

“Betty!” she cried. She tossed her devotional onto the couch, where it landed neatly by Jughead. “So wonderful to meet you!” She pulled me into a hug. I stiffened a bit—I wasn’t the hugging type.

“How was your drive?” Reggie asked, falling back onto the couch next to Jughead. Josie settled in on the other side of Reggie, and they smiled at me in unison. Jughead tossed the devotional towards Josie with a grimace. Something was off about this girl. 

“It was fine,” I said, sitting down on the loveseat adjacent to their couch. 

“So you’re at Cornell?” Josie asked.

“Yeah, with Reggie’s friend Archie,” I replied.

“What sorority are you in?” she pressed. My hand instinctively formed a fist at my side, my nails digging into my palms. There was nothing I hated more than being judged by my Greek letters.

“Kappa,” I said cautiously. 

“Me too!” Josie chirped. I breathed out a sigh that I didn’t even know I’d been holding in. Chapter reputations varied from school to school, but she and I were sisters, technically. She couldn’t look down on me now.

“I know you’re a Sigma Chi, Reggie, but what about you, Jughead?” A wave of weariness came over me as it always did when I entered a Greek life conversation. I loved my sorority, but I didn’t place my Greek membership above all else the way some Cornell girls did.

“Greek life’s not my thing,” Jughead said, just barely disguising his annoyance. I felt my face flush. Now he probably thought I was the type to judge a person by their Greek affiliation. 

Something beeped from the corner of the room, and then Mr. Mantle’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Everybody to the main house, please.”

Reggie, Jughead, and Josie simultaneously rolled their eyes. 

“Now, guys.”

The three of them huffed and got off the couch. I followed them as they trudged out the front door and across the stone back into the house. 

“Your mother’s book club ran over and now she’s craving sushi, so I’m just going to meet her in the village,” Mr. Mantle said as we gathered in the living room. “You four are on your own, but Martha went ahead and made some chicken and pasta. I left some bottles in the fridge. Have fun!”

Martha, a motherly woman standing by the stove, cleared her throat. I wondered how many people total that the Mantles had hired to help with the house. 

“Um, Reggie, just remember what we talked about,” Mr. Mantle said. Josie and Reggie blushed. “Your mother and I will be back before 11.”

Mr. Mantle headed out of the living room, and the four of us were left staring at Martha, who was stirring a pot of pasta sauce like nothing had happened. I glanced at Jughead, and he shook his head. 

“Drinks, guys?” Reggie asked, clearly trying to break through the awkward silence. 

“Just water for me, thanks,” Josie said loudly. Reggie looked to me.

“Wine,” I said. Reggie pulled a bottle of chardonnay from the fridge while Jughead walked into the living room and started pouring a glass for himself from a decanter of whisky. Reggie never poured himself a drink of his own, but accepted a glass of water that Josie shoved into his hands. 

We settled down onto couches in the living room and exchanged pleasantries about my trip down here for five minutes longer before Martha called us to dinner. As we sat down at the dining room table, I almost forgot that we were all barely out of our teens—I felt like a proper adult with my wine and chicken and pasta in that million dollar house. 

“So what are you doing this summer again?” Josie asked. 

“I’m working for this independent bookstore for the summer,” I said. “I’m helping them with their social media and sales.”

“That’s so fun,” Josie said. I both loved and distrusted the way she talked—her tone was impossibly cheerful. 

“What about you?” I asked. “Are you just here to hang out?”

“Oh wow, no,” Josie replied. “I’m interning with a ministry in Greendale and helping with their youth choir program. It’s a bit of a drive, but it’s more sensible to stay here than rent out some place there. Some Greendale residents are actual pagans, if you can believe it.”

It took all I had to keep from bursting out laughing. In high school, Reggie, like most of the football team, only cared about how many girls he could hook up with and log in the team playbook. Now he’d hitched himself to this Bible beater. 

“That’s crazy,” I said, accidentally mimicking her overly sincere tone. Jughead choked on his whiskey a bit, but neither Reggie nor Josie noticed. 

Josie beamed. “Is God in your life, Betty?”

“My family attends Our Lady of Quiet Mercy in Riverdale,” I said. It was a lie—I hadn’t been to church since before my parents’ divorce, and Quiet Mercy had been involved in an abuse scandal a few years back. I didn’t discount those who were church-y, I just didn’t get any personal gratification from it myself. 

Josie opened her mouth as if to launch into some ministry spiel, but Jughead cut her off. “So you’re a communications major?”

I bristled. I didn’t like the implications that came with the so-called ‘easy major’. “Creative writing, actually.”

“I’m also—“ Jughead began, but a squeal from Josie cut him off.

“Aw, Chuck liked my Instagram! Look!” She held up her phone for Reggie to see. He smiled, but more at her than at her glowing iPhone. Jughead shot me an uncomfortable look.

“That reminds me, I left my phone in the other house,” Jughead said. “Did you leave yours there too, Betty?” 

His foot knocked against mine under the table. “Yeah, I did. I’ll go with you.”

I followed him outside, avoiding Reggie’s suspicious look. When we got back to the guest house, I watched Jughead poke around in the couch cushions, bemused.

“Sorry, I just don’t like when Josie gets on her Jesus tangent,” Jughead said. “And the fact that she’s bringing up Chuck. I just don’t know how Reggie isn’t seeing through it.”

“Who’s Chuck?” I asked.

“This smarmy football prick who used to black out and prey on freshman girls until he found Jesus last year. He actually dated Josie right when he joined her church group, but he broke up with her to concentrate more on his sobriety. Reggie had been going to their church group on and off just because his mom wanted him to, but once Chuck joined, he went full Kool-Aid and started attending every week. Next thing I know, Chuck is setting up dates between Reggie and Josie, and Reggie starts going to Friday night fellowship instead of his fraternity’s parties. Which, y’know, that’s fine, frats suck, but it wouldn’t kill him to have a beer every once in a while.” Jughead picked up Josie’s devotional and found his phone underneath, as though she’d planted it there. 

I fell back onto the couch, trying to take it all in. 

“C’mon, they’ll start to wonder what we’re up to,” Jughead said and reached out a hand to pull me back up. “I’m glad you see through the bullshit, though.”

I laughed and followed him back to the main house, the feeling of his hand still on my wrist. 

When we sat back down at the table, Josie and Reggie were still completely absorbed in each other. I began gulping my wine, and Josie broke out of her trance to stare at me with concern. 

“So what’s the name of the bookstore, Betty?” Jughead asked, digging into his pasta.

“Blue Willow Bookshop,” I replied. 

“Oh, so you must know Veronica,” Jughead said. Reggie dropped his fork with a loud clang.

“Veronica?” he demanded. “Who’s named Veronica?”

“Some girl I met at a party last week,” Jughead said around a mouthful of spaghetti. “Apparently Blue Willow is like her favorite place in Shadow Lake, like she goes there every day or something.”

“My boss hasn’t mentioned her,” I said carefully. Reggie looked like he was about to go into cardiac arrest. 

“Right, you haven’t started yet,” Jughead said. “Sorry, it feels like you’ve been here for three years already.”

“I’m glad that I’ve fooled you already,” I said. Only later did I realize what an odd thing it was for me to say. Unlike them, I had nothing to hide.


	3. Chapter 3

I arrived at Blue Willow Bookshop early the next morning and was surprised to find that it wasn’t much of a bookstore at all. One half—a small half—was a bookshop reminiscent of my elementary school library, all tall wooden shelves and displays for Fancy Nancy. The other half, though, was a chic patisserie with a menu boasting crepes, macarons, and lemon-lime spritzers. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Valerie, the store owner, said as I stepped into the shop. She was a tall woman, mid-forties, with a brown bob and a mom-like figure. She wore khaki pants and a blue button-down. I far out-dressed her in my coral pencil skirt and navy blouse. 

“I’m so glad to be here!” I chirped, inserting some Josie-like enthusiasm into my tone. I’d only been around the girl for 14 hours and I was already talking like her. “The shop looks different than I expected.”

“Oh, right,” Valerie said, rolling her eyes. “We ran into some financial issues a few years ago—Kindles, you know? We decided to combine with the French bakery down the way. We went in with them to buy the property between us and knocked out all the walls. Now our customers can sip cafe au laits while they browse books. Genius, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed, admiring the selection of squishy armchairs scattered around the shop. 

“Now we’re just having trouble maintaining a social media presence,” Valerie said. “The people who know about us love us, and we’ve gotten a steady stream of business through the bakery too, but I don’t know how to work the Tweeter.”

“Twitter,” I said quietly.

“Exactly,” Valerie said. “I need help.”

“What has the patisserie done so far?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Valerie replied. “They’re all word-of-mouth.”

“Okay, well, personally, I think this place is perfect for Instagram.”

“How does that work?”

We spent the rest of the morning picking out Instagram filters while occasionally selling books. Valerie taught me how to work the cash register, and I taught her how to hashtag. 

After taking pictures of a Where the Wild Things Are display from at least five different angles, I finally collapsed into a white parlor chair on the patisserie side of the shop. Julian, the patisserie owner, set a honey vanilla latte on my table free of charge. 

“Thank you so much,” I said. He nodded at me and returned to organizing cake orders. 

I had just pulled up Facebook on my phone when the shop doorbell tinkled. A slender girl in a black dress with a white Peter Pan collar waltzed in. She pushed her Ray Bans to the top of her head and grinned at Julian.

“Meez Lodge!” Julian cheered. “The usual?”

“Please and thank you,” the girl said. She lazily glanced over at me and jumped a little, her deep brown eyes going wide. 

I felt uncomfortable under her gaze—I’d never met anyone with such an intense stare. It felt like she was looking into and through me rather than at me. I opened my mouth to ask her if she needed help, but Julian cut me off by announcing that her latte was ready. She quickly grabbed it and retreated to a dark corner of the bookstore. She only reappeared when Julian brought out her crepe. 

She spent at least an hour and a half in the store, her black kitten heels kicked up on an ottoman and just barely peeking out from around a bookshelf. Every so often, we heard a slurp or a giggle. Valerie largely ignored her. 

Just as I made my sixth sale of the day to an elderly man, the girl left her plate and cup on the patisserie counter and bolted out the door. Once I was done with the transaction, I turned to Valerie with a quizzical look.

“She comes here every day but Sunday,” Valerie said with a shrug. “I tried talking to her once, but she got this cagey look in her eyes. Julian gets along with her well, but he always mumbles her name when he mentions her—I think her name is Monica or something like that? Anyway, she buys a new book every Friday and always orders the same crepe.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?” I asked.

“Nah,” Valerie said. “We get oddballs in here all the time. She’s young. I kind of hope she’ll bring more college kids in here.”

“Quirky,” I muttered. Valerie smirked at me. 

-x-

My days quickly fell into a pattern. I’d get up at 7, same time as Josie, and we’d spend 30 minutes taking breakfast out on the dock. Something about her phony cheerfulness lulled me into just enough of a sense of security that I began opening up to her. We both agreed that while we liked being in Kappa at our respective schools, it wasn’t everything. She was grateful for her sorority, because it gave her the sisters she’d never had growing up as an only child, but she valued her church group more than anything else. That group had shown her what Reggie and Chuck were really like, and it had helped her decide to start a relationship with Reggie. God and Reggie, in that order, were the best decisions she’d ever made. Everything else came second. 

One morning, we talked about Kappa rituals for so long that she ended up running late for work. Another morning, though, she tried in vain to witness to me.

“Things will be exponentially better once you let God into your life,” she pleaded. 

“I go to Our Lady of Quiet Mercy in Riverdale, remember?” I said, trying to stay as noncommittal as possible.

“But I looked up the church and after Vatican II—“

“I would really hate for you to be late to work,” I interrupted. She checked the time on her phone and resigned her efforts. 

I’d usually spend another 30 minutes sitting inside, pondering things over a cup of coffee and watching Josie run around getting ready. She’d always pray for at least 10 minutes before throwing on a skirt and bouncing out the door. Everything she wore covered her shoulders and went down to her knees. I wondered where she was able to find clothes like that in the age of crop tops and still make them look cute rather than dowdy. 

I’d spend the rest of my day making clever tweets and sipping lattes at Blue Willow. It wasn’t a bad way to spend a summer. I knew that I wasn’t doing anything that would advance my career the way most of my classmates at Cornell were, but I enjoyed getting paid to languish. 

-x-

Two and a half weeks into my job, the mysterious Lodge girl finally reached out to me.

She always wore a variation of the same outfit—a dark dress with a dainty collar and heels. Tights and Hunter boots came out on days it was supposed to rain. Her black hair never frizzed, and her deep red manicure never chipped. 

“You’re working here this summer?” she asked, setting her latest read down onto the counter. It was a Friday, which was her usual book-buying day. I glanced at the title. Crazy Rich Asians. She’d already dog-eared one of the pages. 

“Yeah, I’m here till late August,” I said as I rang her up.

“That’s great,” she said. She lacked Josie’s enthusiastic inflection. Her tone had more of a bite to it. “I love it here.”

“I can tell,” I said wryly. She smiled at me. 

“Well if you’re here, you may as well have a little fun,” she said. She signed her receipt, then reached into her Louis Vuitton bag and pulled out a sticky note pad. She scribbled a message onto the note and stuck it to my shoulder. I twitched. I didn’t welcome this girl’s touch any more than I welcomed Josie’s hugs. 

“See you there!” she said before waltzing out the door.

I pulled the sticky off my shirt and glanced at its message.

Party  
Kennedy Theme  
926 Cypress Cove Drive


	4. Chapter 4

When I got off work, I went to find Jughead in hopes that he could help me decode the Lodge girl’s sticky note. I got lucky—Jughead was already at the Mantles’, pounding away at an Xbox controller in the guest house with Reggie. 

“Why do you dress up so much if you just work at a bookstore?” Jughead asked without looking at me when I entered the common room. Reggie punched him in the arm and continued to kill some zombified presence on the screen.

I frowned at my blush pink tulle skirt and grey top. “This is business casual.”

“You look like a ballerina on a coffee break,” Jughead said.

“But that’s exactly what I am,” I said, bringing my arms above my head and twirling for good measure. He finally looked at me and grinned. Reggie chuckled and paused the game. 

“Some kooky girl at the bookstore gave me this today.” I handed Jughead the sticky note. His eyebrows shot up. 

“Yeah, I’ve been to parties at this house before!” he exclaimed. “It’s on Left Hook, but they’re still killer. Want to go?”

“Sure,” I said, choosing to gloss over his dig at Left Hook. “What does she mean by ‘Kennedy theme’?”

Jughead held up a finger and pulled up an event on Facebook on his phone. “John F. Kennedy theme. Here, I’ll invite you on FB.” 

My phone pinged. The event was simply titled, ‘Shadow Lake Nights - JFK theme’. The event description instructed its guests to emulate John F. Kennedy and Jackie O in their attire. 

“I have a yellow dress that would be perfect for this,” I said, scrolling through the event’s wall posts. It seemed like every bored teenager in Shadow Lake was going out. 

Reggie cleared his throat.

“Dude, you don’t even drink anymore,” Jughead said. 

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t go,” Reggie protested. His phone buzzed before he could continue. Jughead grabbed it.

“‘Want to watch The Tree of Life again tonight? My boss wants me to take notes on it for a potential outreach event.’” Jughead read Josie’s latest text to Reggie aloud to us in an exaggerated imitation of her chipper voice.

“Give me that,” Reggie snapped, grabbing the phone out of Jughead’s hand. 

“You’re not going to this party with her around,” Jughead said.

“I totally could go,” Reggie said. “But I’ve been meaning to watch The Tree of Life again. I’ve got some questions about the whole nature versus grace debate that I think could be answered by rewatching it—“

“Okay, Roger Ebert, we get it,” Jughead said. Reggie put Jughead in a headlock, and Jughead quickly responding by smashing his fist into Reggie’s crotch. While Reggie reeled in pain, Jughead told me that he’d pick me up at 10 before running out the back door. 

-x-

I came out of my room around 9:45 in a lemon-yellow sleeveless sheath dress. Josie and Reggie were in the middle of The Tree of Life. Both looked like they were about to pass out from how mind-numbingly slow the film was, but they seemed doggedly determined to finish the movie. 

“Wait, you look amazing,” Josie said, pausing the film with a noticeable sense of relief. 

“Thanks,” I replied, self-consciously tugging on the hem. My wardrobe definitely revealed more thigh compared to Josie’s. 

“So you’re really going to go out with Jughead?” Josie asked, resting her chin on the back of the couch. Reggie did the same, and they glanced up at me with similar puppy dog expressions. Despite Jughead’s worries about Josie’s friendship with Chuck, I’d never once questioned in three weeks why they were together. 

“I mean, it’s not, like, a date,” I said, clasping a small string of pearls around my neck. 

“He’s a good guy, Betty,” Reggie said. “He seems to really enjoy having you around.”

My hands shook as I squeezed my feet into nude pumps. I hated that my self-worth was assessed by whether or not I was dating. I’d had a couple of boyfriends in high school, but they’d both been duds. Mom had never once questioned why I wasn’t settled down; she was perfectly amused by my string of random, sometimes meaningless, college hookups. But in small towns, things were different. Even Polly and Cheryl, two of the most sensible and independently-minded women I knew, stressed about finding a suitable significant other before the age of 30. 

“I’ll think about it,” I said. 

My phone buzzed. “Here,” Jughead had texted me. I smiled at my phone and skipped out of the guest house. 

-x-

“You look nice,” Jughead said as I entered our Uber. 

“You look dapper yourself,” I replied. He was wearing a blue button-down, khaki pants, and boat shoes. Even his signature beanie had been retired for the evening. He wasn’t a negotiating-the-Cuban-missile-crisis JFK, but an about-to-go-yachting-in-Nantasket JFK. “I’ve never seen you look this preppy in my whole life.”

“My grandmother keeps a few outfits like this in my closet just in case I want to look like a functioning member of society,” Jughead said with an eye roll. I giggled. Even as a kid, Jughead had always favored the Jack Kerouac look. 

“Have you seen your parents lately?” The question had been on my mind for weeks, but we’d never been alone long enough for me to ask it. 

“Nah,” Jughead said. “Don’t really want to anyway. Not until I know for sure that they’ve got their shit together.”

We both stayed silent for a moment, watching the Uber driver navigate the winding roads.

“Sorry if that was too personal for me to ask,” I said quietly. Jughead turned to me with a soft smile.

“Not at all,” he replied. “I like a girl who gets right down to the deep stuff. All the better, since we’re about to enter the house of the shallow and depraved.” 

Our Uber dropped us off at the end of the street—it was impossible for him to get any closer to the house with so many cars vying for a parking space. What seemed like hundreds of kids were flocking towards the house at the end of the lane, an imposing three-story cabin that was lit up from every corner. I could feel the bass thumping from yards away. 

The house was grand in size but modest in décor, as though the owner had been foolish enough to think that decorating a Left Hook lake house would be as easy as furnishing a rental cottage in Myrtle Beach. Worn-in couches sat atop fraying rugs; dusty deer heads stared down at us with a palpable sense of weariness. It was no wonder that everyone around us was pushing us down the stairs and out into the backyard, which glittered at us through a smoky haze. 

Twinkle lights were hung everywhere, which I suspected had less to do with the JFK theme and more with a desire for a Pinterest-esque ambience. Throughout the patio, a dozen entertainments were scattered—a hot tub here, a beer pong table over there, and a bar boasting every liquor imaginable in the center of it all. Where the stone patio ended, grassy knolls began, which eventually led to the gentle lapping waters of Shadow Lake. 

All around me were girls in pillbox hats and boys in boat shoes. Some boys had taken the JFK theme to mean a general America theme, and were simply wearing patriotic tanks from their respective fraternities. Other girls had taken Jackie O for Jackie Ho and were wearing Chanel-pink lingerie with pillbox hats and their grandmother’s pearls. Everyone was laughing, dancing, crying, or doing a little bit of all three. And everyone was downing daiquiris and champagne like they had nowhere to be in the morning.

This was what the frat parties at Cornell had always aimed to be. I loved it instantly. 

As Talk Dirty to Me faded out over the blaring speakers, a Frank Sinatra song I vaguely recognized picked up. On the dock, a girl in a baby blue shift dress moved closer to a guy wearing a full-on suit and tie. He spun her around, swing dance-style, and she laughed with delight. 

It was the girl from the bookstore. I began to walk over to say hello, but Jughead dragged me over to the bar. 

“The usual, Mister Jones?” the bartender asked. 

“Plus one, please,” Jughead said. The bartender handed over two bottles of Veuve. Jughead popped one and handed it over to me. I burst out laughing.

“I can’t drink this whole thing!” I protested. 

“When was the last time you were really, truly drunk?” Jughead asked, popping his own bottle and taking a hearty swig. 

I sighed in defeat. “It’s been too long.”

By the time I got through half the bottle, I was fantastically drunk, scream-shouting all the words to Roses and shrieking at girls whose dresses I liked. Jughead and I clung to each other, falling into a mob of other sweaty, dancing couples. 

“It’s too hot,” I whined after what felt like an hour of dancing. Jughead dragged me out of the clump and led me over to the lake. It made perfect sense for me to strip down to my underwear and jump in. Jughead ripped off his shirt and followed after. 

I shrieked when I hit the slimy bottom of the lake and nearly propelled myself into Jughead’s arms; he didn’t seem to mind standing in the mud. We stared at each other, wondering what was to happen next. He reached out, seemingly to cup my face in his hands, when someone called to us from above. 

“Bookstore Girl,” Miss Lodge shouted from the dock, still pristinely dressed in her blue shift. “I’m so glad you made it.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Miss Lodge!” I cried, waving up at her. “Come play in the water!” I slapped the surface of the lake and sent a fountain of water splashing up to Jughead’s face. He sputtered and glanced up at the girl from the bookstore, annoyed.

“Oh, hey Veronica,” Jughead said. The name triggered a memory—Reggie had gotten startled when Jughead mentioned her at dinner.

“Wait, what’s your name?” I slurred. 

“Veronica Lodge,” the girl said, curling her toes over the edge of the dock. We swam towards her. She gently picked up my yellow dress.

“Smithers!” Veronica called out. A portly man waddled up to her. “See that this gets dry-cleaned as soon as possible.” I noticed with hazy dismay that my dress had landed in a puddle on the dock. Hopefully the lake water hadn’t ruined the material. 

The boy Veronica had been dancing with tugged on her elbow. She pointedly ignored him and crouched down to talk to us. 

“I’ll lend you one of my kimonos,” she said. “Jughead, I’m so glad to see you again. Why don’t you two get out and we can catch up?”   
Jughead pulled himself up onto the dock and I followed, only half-aware that my wet underwear was now see-through. 

Within moments, it seemed, a silk robe appeared around my shoulders, and a glass of water landed in one hand while I gripped a flute of champagne in the other. My hair became twisted up in a Ralph Lauren towel, and I was tucked into a sturdy, but well-loved couch. I could have fallen asleep if it weren’t for another girl in the room, similarly tucked into an old armchair and picking at a plate of chicken tenders. I desperately wanted a bite, but wasn’t sure how to ask. 

“Isn’t it amazing?” the girl whispered to me in awe. “This town was dead. There was nothing to do on Fridays. She brought it back.”

The girl was referring to Veronica, and I realized with a jolt that she and Jughead had left me. I pulled myself out of the couch and wandered up the first flight of stairs I stumbled upon. I found myself in the living room, which was only marginally nicer than the basement I’d been left in. A trail of wet footprints led to another staircase, where Jughead and Veronica sat on the landing, their heads tilted towards each other conspiratorially. A certain intimacy was missing from the moment, though—I’d walked in on a confession of guilt, not a declaration of love. I began to walk away, confident that Jughead wasn’t about to go to bed with her, when Veronica looked up. 

“So sorry we left you down there!” she cried out, jumping up from the landing and flying down the stairs. She twisted the towel off of my head and gently rubbed my hair. “Let me make it up to you. There’s an after-party in my—“

“Nope,” Jughead cut in, separating me from Veronica. “It’s time for bed.”

“I’ll see you at the bookstore, Betty,” Veronica said firmly. I hardly had time to figure out how she already knew my name when Jughead pried the various cups of water and alcohol from my hands and pushed me out the door. 

“What the hell was that all about?” I asked, fighting back a burp. Jughead rubbed my back encouragingly before throwing his whole arm around my shoulders. We teetered down the road while Jughead stared into his phone, willing his thumbs to press the right buttons to call us an Uber back to the Mantles’ place. 

“Something that could change the course of the summer if we don’t get it under control now,” he mumbled. I almost asked him to explain, but quickly changed my mind; I wasn’t in the mood for long answers and other people’s drama. I shivered a little, and he pressed himself closer, rubbing his hand up and down my arm to warm me up. After what seemed like a very long time—or maybe no time at all—I turned to him, prepared to ask him to kiss me. Our Uber pulled up at that moment, and its glaring headlights threw me off my train of thought. 

When we finally reached the Mantles’ house, he got out of the car with me. I slid my hand into his and led him back to the guest house door. 

“Should we?” I asked, fiddling with the lock. 

“Well, someone’s got to be a gentleman and help you out of your wet clothes,” he said. 

“How courteous of you,” I whispered before pushing open the door and leading him inside.

-x-

We woke up early, almost at the same time, and I knew that neither of us were going to tell Reggie or Josie what had happened. We got to do something they couldn’t under their self-imposed rules, and it didn’t feel right to brag. 

He gathered up his things while I worked on getting my bedroom window open. He hopped out of the window easily enough and paused for a moment to kiss me through it before disappearing into the dawn. It was the kind of Romeo and Juliet moment that I rarely allowed myself to have. 

-x-

On Monday, my hands worked through bookstore inventory and Instagram posts for the week, but my mind was firmly on Veronica and her party. The finer details of the evening were slipping through my mind’s grasp—did she and Jughead really talk for hours and hours? Was there some kind of drama happening that neither she nor Jughead had filled me in on? I’d spent the whole weekend trying to craft a text to get the secret out of Jughead, but I couldn’t remember if that was a part of the night I’d dreamed or not. I settled for snapchatting him instead and trying to figure out a way to get him back into my bed without the rest of the house noticing. 

Veronica finally showed up that Monday around six, and her arrival was met with a palpable feeling of annoyance from the other bookstore workers—after all, the store closed at 6:45. I, however, felt myself let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding in when she walked through the door. Now I could finally get the answers I wanted. 

“Betty,” Veronica said, skipping her usual pretense of lattes and book browsing and coming straight up to me. “When do you get off work?”

“In about 40 minutes,” I said. 

“Perfect,” Veronica said. “Come to dinner with me. I’ve been wanting to try the new Italian place in the village.”

It was a demand, not a request, and as far as I knew, the Mantles had no set plans with me tonight. I agreed, sent Reggie a text letting him know I’d be home late, then began counting down the minutes until my shift ended. 

Veronica beat me to the Italian place, and I’d barely sat down before she launched right in. 

“You’re probably wondering what my deal is, aren’t you?”

“I mean—“ I sputtered. 

“My parents were supposed to be with me this summer,” she began. “The house you came to on Friday—we call it Lodge Lodge—has been in my family for ages, but my uncles usually claim it for the summer. This was the year my parents and I finally got it for ourselves, but my dad got assigned a big project in the city, and my mom decided to stay with him. They sent me up here with some of our housekeeping staff, and I thought it’d be fun to be grown up and live alone here for the summer. After one week though, I was lonely and bored as fuck. So I started doing anything I could to be around people. Going to the bookstore. Trying out different churches. Inviting over my neighbors. The neighborhood get-togethers kept growing and growing, and now every Friday, there’s a party at my place, whether I want there to be or not.”

She spat out this monologue while staring intently at the empty wine glass at her place setting, occasionally picking it up stare into its depths and twist the stem absentmindedly through her fingers. I waited for her to take a breath so that I could call bullshit on her whole sob story, but the second she finished, she set down the glass with a clunk and fixed her stare back on me. The same stare from the first day she saw me at the bookstore. She looked into and through me, and any thought I had of calling her a liar disappeared. 

“But enough about me,” she said. “What brings you to Shadow Lake this summer?”

I explained that I was staying with family friends and working at the bookstore. As soon as I answered one question, she had another one ready, and any of my attempts to turn the conversation back towards her were immediately deflected. By the end of dinner, I felt like I’d told her my entire life story while learning nothing in return about her. 

“Do you have dinner plans tomorrow?” she asked as we signed our respective checks. 

“I don’t think so,” I said. 

“Let’s do dinner again,” she insisted. 

We ended up doing dinner every night that week, including a quick fast-food dinner on Friday prior to her usual party. The Mantles thought it was a little odd that I suddenly had plans every night, but I didn’t care—I relished the fact that at these dinners, Veronica and I only talked about me and what I had going on in my life. For the first time in a long time, I was the center of attention. 

-x-

Jughead’s grandparents forced him to stay in the night I partied at Veronica’s for the second time. I woke up late the next morning and spent the rest of my weekend lounging in the living room of the guest house, watching Reggie run in and out as he performed various chores for his parents. Josie flitted in and out of the room as well, taking phone calls from her own parents and getting snacks from the main house. 

On Sunday, the other shoe finally dropped.

From the way she tripped, it was almost as if she wanted me to find out. But it really was just an accident—she was texting away with one hand and balancing a bowl of popcorn in the other when she slipped on a fallen devotional. Popcorn exploded all over the room while her phone flew out of her hand and skidded to a stop, screen-up, just by my feet. I picked it up and read the message on her screen without thinking.

“You can’t tell me that you love me one minute and then say that you’re not ready to leave him yet the next,” the text read.

It was from Chuck Clayton. 

I quickly locked her phone and thrust it in her direction. She’d been preoccupied with cleaning up the popcorn, but my gesture brought her back to the gravity of what had been on her screen. She snatched her phone out of my hand, turning bright red as she did so. 

I reached over to pick up the devotional and handed that to her as well. “This needs to go on a shelf or something,” I said. 

I began heading back towards my room when she finally spoke up. 

“I know what you saw, and I’m not ashamed of it.”

I whipped back around. “You’re not?”

“You wouldn’t be able to understand this because you can’t even be convinced to go to church, but I’ve seen God’s plan for me and Reggie is not a part of the end game,” she said, her voice shaking. 

“That may be, but at least I went to Sunday school long enough to catch the lesson on fidelity,” I snapped before slamming my door. 

With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone and texted Jughead, “She’s cheating on him.”

He called me not even five seconds later. 

“Come to my grandparent’s dock,” he said. “There’s a story you need to hear.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who has left kudos or a comment! I really appreciate it! I'm working on the next chapter after this one, but it may come a little later since I just started a new job!

Jughead greeted me on the dock with a bottle of bourbon and a box of Thin Mints.

“These were the first two things I found in my grandparents’ freezer, I figured that they’d fit the occasion,” Jughead explained as I sat down. 

“And what occasion is that?” I asked, immediately reaching for the bourbon. 

“Not a very happy one, I’m afraid,” he sighed. I took a swig and handed it back to him. 

“Veronica told me some weird stuff on Friday night,” Jughead continued. “I called Archie yesterday since he knows this town better than I do and explained everything to him.”

Jughead took out his phone and pulled up Archie on FaceTime. My heart felt like it might burst; I hadn’t realized how much I’d been missing Archie until I saw his face and heard his voice.

“It took me a while to realize, Betty, but I’ve met Veronica Lodge before,” Archie began.

-x-

It was the spring of our junior year. Football season was long over, so Reggie and I would usually go to baseball games on Friday nights for fun. One night in April, I showed up to the game with some of my teammates, but Reggie was already there, and he wasn’t alone. Veronica had come with him. She was the daughter of Mr. Mantle’s best friend from college. She’d grown up in Manhattan, but her family was in Riverdale that weekend to look at some property for her dad’s company. 

They spent the entire game completely absorbed in each other, comparing notes on favorite books and Spotify playlists and places they’d been to. They hardly seemed like family friends. Veronica gazed at Reggie with a kind of adoration I’d never seen before. It was the kind of adoration that made high school relationship drama seem worth it. 

When the weekend was over and Veronica returned to the city, Reggie told me that he and Veronica were going to officially start dating that summer. He was going to bring her up to Shadow Lake with him. But June came and went without a change to Reggie’s Facebook relationship status. That summer, his family never made it to Shadow Lake, and he seemed to disappear from social media entirely before resurfacing in late August to say that he’d gotten a new phone and all of his former contacts had been erased. 

When school started again, Reggie seemed kind of subdued. He wasn’t interested in any of the girls at school, and he’d change the subject whenever any of the other guys on the team brought up the team playbook. Finally, I asked him about the girl from the city I’d seen him with all those months ago. Reggie said she’d gotten an internship in D.C. over the summer. His parents had helped her network and secure it. He was so miserable when he told me that I decided to never bring up that girl ever again. I got a few of the other guys on the team together and we threw him a little party at my house one Friday. By the end of the weekend, we’d cheered him up, and on Monday, he was back to his old self. He even logged a few points in that stupid playbook that semester. 

I looked her up last night, and she’s actually in Polly’s grade. Maybe the Mantles kept them apart at the time because she was already eighteen and Reggie was still underage. But Reggie turned eighteen that winter, and they easily could have taken trains to meet up with each other and date. It just doesn’t make any sense. Why keep your son away from your best friend’s daughter? Why prevent your son from dating someone he more or less grew up with? And now Reggie’s dating that Christian girl…no matter what happened, I just hope it didn’t cost Reggie a chance at having something real. 

-x-

By the time Archie hung up with us, the Thin Mints were gone, but the bourbon was practically untouched. Once Archie had started talking, I knew that I had to listen, to remember every detail of the Tale of Veronica and Reggie in perfect clarity. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that night? While we were waiting for the Uber?” I asked.

“I had other things on my mind,” Jughead said, taking my hand. I smiled. I couldn’t fault him for that.

“Were you ever going to tell me, or just keep it a secret the whole summer?”

“I was waiting for proof about Josie and Chuck,” Jughead said. “It just came sooner than I thought.”

“Why wait for proof?” 

“Because Veronica has a plan.”

-x-

It was a rather simple plan, really. I was to call in on Monday and take the day off from Blue Willow, claiming that I’d caught a stomach bug from some bad sushi. Valerie believed me immediately and happily gave me the day off from work. 

Once Josie had left for her job, I found Reggie in the guest house living room. 

“I need you to do me a favor,” I began. 

“Are you actually sick?” Reggie asked.

“No,” I confessed.

“Then I’m not doing a favor for you,” he replied without looking up from yet another of his obnoxious video games. 

“Please,” I whined. “I left some of my clothes at that party house and I’m too scared to go back by myself.”

“Make Jughead go with—wait, you left some of your clothes?” Reggie asked incredulously. 

“They got wet,” I mumbled. “Please? Jughead’s shopping in the village with his grandparents today.”

Reggie stared at me for a long moment, then shrugged and shut off his game. 

“I’m kind of curious,” he said as he pulled on some boat shoes and grabbed his keys.

I smirked. “I figured you would be.”

The drive took less than 20 minutes, but it felt more like 20 days. I stared out the car window, going through every possible worst case scenario in my head. What if this didn’t work? What if Reggie refused to acknowledge Veronica? What if—

“I miss drinking,” Reggie blurted. 

I whipped my head around so hard I nearly gave myself whiplash. “You do?”

“I know I shouldn’t,” Reggie said, quickly pulling his Good Christian Boy persona back on. “But it was fun to just drink and be stupid, you know? I felt young when I drank. Like I didn’t have to be so serious all the time.”

“There’s nothing in the Bible that says you have to be serious all the time,” I said quietly. “Jesus drank wine. He went to weddings and parties.”

Reggie didn’t say anything. I bit my lip as we turned onto Cypress Cove Drive. 

Lodge Lodge gleamed in the morning light. The cabin walls were power-washed to perfection and the front lawn was brighter and greener than a Lilly Pulitzer shift dress. It was meant to impress, and from the way Reggie straightened up as we pulled into the driveway, it already had. 

As instructed, I walked to the front door with Reggie in tow and knocked three times. Smithers answered the door and led us to the patio, where Veronica was finishing up her breakfast. 

I stepped out on to the patio and waved at Veronica, who stood up so abruptly that her knees hit the table with an audible thump. Reggie stepped through the doorway and froze.

“Reggie,” Veronica breathed. 

Reggie’s face broke out in a smile unlike anything I’d ever seen.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that it's been nearly three months since I've updated! I started a new job shortly after starting this story, and then I ended up breaking my foot a few weeks ago, so I've been just a bit distracted. :) Since it's hard for me to get out and about with my foot, I now have more time to stay in and write! Hope y'all enjoy!

Reggie rushed towards Veronica. Eager to reach him, Veronica bumped her hip against her patio table and knocked her phone into the air. The two of them dove for it and ended up on top of each other on the floor, laughing hard, with Veronica’s phone safely cradled in Reggie’s hands. 

“Betty, this is Veronica,” Reggie said, as if he had made me come over to Lodge Lodge, not the other way around. “I’ve known her forever, longer than I’ve even known Archie. I should have known you’d be up here, Veronica, I know how much you love the Catskills.”

Veronica beamed. It had been years, nearly half a decade, since they’d spoken, yet they acted like they were still on those bleachers just as Archie had described, the best of friends and potential lovers. 

“Do you guys need help getting up off the floor?” I asked. Both of them blushed and pulled themselves back up. Veronica leaned on Reggie as she did so. 

“If you guys aren’t too busy, I’d love for you to stay a while,” Veronica said. I was surprised that she even remembered our cover story in her flustered state. 

“I’ve got no plans, and Betty’s playing sick from work,” Reggie said. 

“I needed a mental health day,” I explained, still trying to stick to the story, but it didn’t matter. Reggie and Veronica had already turned their attention back to each other. 

I’d heard of people before who could be apart from their friends for months, maybe even years, but still pick right back up where they left off. I had that with Archie, but he was more like family than a friend. With every other friend, I had to text them consistently, Snapchat them daily, make plans to see them, make sure that I was a tangible part of their lives and vice versa. Since Reggie and Veronica had truly had no contact in nearly five years, I’d expected some awkwardness between them, a need to get to know each other again. But they were that rare sort of friends, and they launched right into sharing childhood memories and swapping college stories. 

I felt Smithers lurking behind us, and I turned to him and quietly asked him to bring out any snacks or drinks. He returned with a bottle of Veuve, a pitcher of orange juice, three champagne flutes, and a plate of croissants. Smithers mixed each of us a mimosa, passed them around, and disappeared back into the house. 

Veronica and I each reached for our glass, and Reggie jumped a bit, as though Satan himself had reached out and shoved the champagne in his face. 

“What’s wrong?” Veronica asked. I realized then that, for all that Veronica and Reggie knew about each other’s past, they probably had no idea about each other’s present. Archie had said that after Veronica and Reggie had been cut off from contacting each other, Reggie had gotten all-new social media profiles. She likely knew from her parents that Reggie had ended up at Yale, but she probably didn't know about the church group, or Josie, or how he’d changed his life completely because of both. 

For the first time, it hit me that Veronica likely didn't want to be friends with me or Jughead just for the sake of friendship. It was easy enough to put together - she’d probably been trying to go around his parents and her parents to get back to Reggie for years, but didn’t succeed until this summer, when one of the many loose-lipped girls at her parties had connected her to Jughead, who connected her to me, who brought Reggie right into her waiting arms. It made me so utterly angry that I’d been used that I was tempted to stand up and shout Josie’s name until Reggie remembered that he had a girlfriend and came back to his senses. 

But then I remembered that what Josie was doing was so much worse than what was bound to be an innocent afternoon of flirtation and closure. The boiling anger in my stomach subsided, and I waited for Reggie to explain himself. 

“Oh, nothing,” Reggie finally said, reaching for his glass. “I just haven’t had a lot to drink this summer. My parents are pretty strict.”

“They always have been,” Veronica said with a sad smile. It was the first moment they’d even tried to broach the subject of their forced separation. They both paused, and I sensed that five years’ worth of unsaid words were about to come spilling out of both of them. I didn’t want to bear witness to that. 

“Well, if you want to catch up on your drinking, Veronica’s been throwing the most fantastic parties all summer,” I said, swiftly changing the subject. 

“So that’s where you’ve been disappearing to these past few weeks,” Reggie said with a smirk. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You were quite the party girl in high school, Ronnie.” 

Veronica beamed again, more so from Reggie’s special nickname for her than from my praise. 

“You’ll have to come to one soon,” Veronica said. “Maybe this Friday? It’s going to be 80s themed.”

“I’m there,” Reggie said. Veronica grinned and held up her glass; we toasted to Friday and downed our drinks in a couple of gulps. Smithers came back out with another bottle of Veuve.

The more we drank, the faster time seemed to go by and the funnier their stories got. Before I knew it, it was two in the afternoon and I was drunk. Yet another tale from their shared childhood came to a close, and we each wiped the tears of laughter from our eyes. 

“That was the last time we saw each other, wasn’t it?” Veronica said. Reggie grew quiet and nodded, eyes downcast. Once again, five years’ worth of unsaid words hovered on their lips, threatening to burst forth and drown us all. Determined to leave before they started, I stood up so abruptly that I got a little dizzy and had to clutch the table for support. They both stared at me in concern. 

“I should be going,” I said, trying hard not to slur my words. “I’ve got a few things I need to take care of back at the house.”

Reggie started fumbling for his keys. Veronica glanced at me in a panic. 

“No, no, you stay, Reggie,” I said. “I’ll call Jughead or an Uber. Besides, you need to stay here for a while and sober up before you drive back.”

“Yes, let’s get some water,” Veronica said, waving at Smithers through the glass patio doors. I began fumbling through the apps on my phone, trying to figure out who or what would get me back to the Mantles’ place as soon as possible. Finally, I got a notification that an Uber was on the way. 

I hiccuped the whole ride home, and immediately fell into bed once I reached the Mantles’ guest house. 

When Josie arrived home from work, she quietly opened my door to check on me. As far as she knew, I really had stayed home sick from work, and my pale, sweaty, sleepy self backed up my story. She left a glass of water by my bed and wandered into the main house in search of Reggie. 

In my half-awake, half-asleep, mostly drunk state, I quickly texted Jughead: “Come up with a cover story for Reggie. I think he’s still at Veronica’s.”

-x-

I really did think that they would just have a long afternoon of flirting and finding closure. 

What I would learn later is this:

Reggie and Veronica did sip on some bottles of Evian water, but even that couldn’t quell the Veuve that was coursing through their veins. They never talked about the exact reason that the two of them were forced apart, but Reggie did apologize for never getting back in touch with Veronica when he was able to do so. 

For Veronica, that was enough. 

The kiss started on the patio and continued through the living room, up the stairs, and into Veronica’s bedroom. They fell onto the bed, giggling. 

Only a single moment of uncertainty passed between the two of them. Reggie, after all, had intended to lose his virginity sometime during his freshman year of college, but then Chuck had set him up with Josie, and Josie wanted to wait for marriage. Veronica had never considered sleeping with anyone but Reggie, and had waited all this time just for him. 

As drunk as Reggie was, he still knew what this would mean for his and Josie’s relationship. But he was tired of waiting, tired of abstaining from everything fun in life, and Veronica, a girl he’d cared about for so long, was right there ready for him. 

They fell asleep afterwards. Reggie woke up in a panic hours later, not so much about having fully cheated on Josie, but worried about what his father would say about him missing dinner with the family. To his relief, there was a text from Jughead, saying that he’d texted Mr. Mantle and Josie and told them that Reggie’s phone had died and he was eating dinner at Jughead’s grandparents’ house while it charged. 

Reggie woke up Veronica. They chatted for a little while and made sure they had each other’s numbers in their phones. They made plans for Reggie to come over every day that week, including the day of her 80s party. Then Reggie drove home a little after eight and came to hang out with me and Josie in the guest house as if nothing had happened.


End file.
